nothing's impossible
just have to find a way

"Farewell happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he.
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n

John Milton, Paradise Lost; Book One
♥♥♥

rien ne pèse tant
que un secret.

a long weekend makes for some pretty good times

Saturday, September 4, 2010 / 10:54 PM

Here's my philosophy on the art of getting hammered. Thirteen Raspberry Mike's Hard Lemonade, a Long Island Iced Tea and a Pina Colada or two Hard Iced Teas, three watermelon shots, two Starry Nights and two cups of Bacardi Zombie or three cups of Greygoose Vodka mixed with Sunkist and four ice cold Coronas or two Black Label Whiskey shots, a shot of Patron, and two Jager bombs is enough to get me hammered. Those nights are still clear as day but the thing is... why? What's the point of getting smashed if you're not going to remember anything and the right/wrong functions in your brain go to shit? Sure everything is funny and the question, "Do you like hip-hop?" becomes more hilarious than anything ever said before in the history of man.

I consider this diversion into the world of alcohol my lapse in judgement. Nothing wrong in enjoying a two or three Mike's cause they taste damn delicious but I'm quite done. Resorting to watching people has its ridiculous ups... like watching Marcus' Pursuit of Happiness dance (and joining in) and getting into a Xbox vs PS3 argument and playing with Carlos' face and then watching Ryan beat the crap out of John cause they're best friends.

The only thing I'd say to that is... good times.

Saturday are either hit or miss these days. Scott Pilgrim was playing in some ridiculously far out theatre in Schaumburg so I decided on the Takers. Just for Hayden. Mmm. Parachute Man seems to be permanently attached to the top of the Jeep... and he likes it. So he's staying.

Watching The Losers with my mother can be summed up easily...

Me: Mama... look. Isn't he hot?

Madre: Mmmhmmm.

(five minutes later)

Me: Look at those aaaaarms. Hot damn.

Mama: No, look at the other guy.

Mama and I: Daaaamn.

And variations of that. He was damn hot though.

Shower time.

ogni cuore
ha il suo dolore

If you're here, you've somehow managed to stumble across my blog. The word blog makes me think of snooty fashionistas in New York writing about their later escapades in their pink Mercedes so we'll just call this the place were Ria (yours truly) can spit out whatever the hell she wants with no responsibility or thought about who she might be offending.

Also, if you're reading this, you might want to know a few things. This is my fifth attempt at successfully keeping a record of my thoughts and doings - after a few LiveJournals, a former Blog (if you peek around you might find it), and a few paper journals - so, I figure this might be the last chance I'll give myself to write everyday - if not possible then every other day - about what's going on through my head.

N o, you're not handcuffed to a chair. You may leave if you will. ~~Go watch porn.~~

My basic goal with this is to try to flesh out the philosophies, memories, thoughts that make me - me.

Truthfully, I just want to write again. I miss it.